The Flesh is Weak
by White Eyebrow
Summary: What happens in the Pentagon, stays in the Pentagon. A Hawk oneshot. Season 3, Episode 1.5, SunbowVerse.


GI JOE Season 3: episode 1.5

"The Flesh is Weak"

Arlington, VA - 2026 hrs.

General Hawk removed his reading glasses and rubbed his weary eyes. Sitting at his desk, he looked over to the wall clock to check the time. His tired eyes could not focus sufficiently to read the clock face so he replaced his glasses. When he realized the lateness of the hour, he stacked all his papers for the budgetary meeting he had tomorrow morning and placed them in his briefcase. In these past weeks, his temporary office here at the Pentagon had become a home-away-from-home of sorts. He got up from his desk to stretch his legs – although the small confines of the office didn't allow for too much movement. At least his office had a clear view of _ground _zero at the center of the complex. He rubbed his head as he looked outside of his window. The back of his neck had been itching all day, presumably from a bug bite. He felt the skin under his collar for a welt, but didn't find one. He was tired; sleep offered him little comfort. He figured it was time for a vacation. Maybe he'll take next week off and spend some time with his--

_RING! RING!_

Hawk answered the phone on his desk.

"General Hawk, its BeachHead. Sorry to call you so late."

"It's alright BeachHead, what's going on?"

"You said to let you know if there were any interesting developments from RoadBlock and CoverGirl's mission in Paris. MainFrame's been running queries against the DGSE database all afternoon. It turns out that there is evidence of organized Cobra activity."

"I think that qualifies as _interesting_--"

Just then, Hawk heard a knock. His door was already open so he could see that it was his intern-assistant. He waved her in before continuing his conversation with BeachHead.

"...Thanks BeachHead. Put a duplicate of your report in my Inbox. I'll fly back after my meeting first thing in the morning."

He hung up the phone and acknowledged his assistant, Jane Reese, as she entered the office.

"Jane, what are you still doing here?"

"I had a feeling that you would still be working at this hour, so I decided to get some take-out and prep you for your presentation tomorrow." She placed two bags and a pair of chopsticks on the desk.

General Hawk, returning her cheerful smile, picked up the chopsticks and looked into the bag," you didn't have to do this - but I'm glad you did. I'm hoping you weren't expecting me to eat all this food by myself?"

With a smirk on her face, Jane pulled out a pair of chopsticks that she had hidden in her pocket. Hawk chuckled as they both sat down to eat. During his stay here, he found this young woman to be very helpful and extremely competent. He even considered asking her to join his support staff back at JOE headquarters.

As he finished his food, he found himself looking over at Jane from across his desk. He wasn't used to seeing her in such a casual context: her blond hair, usually cropped into a bun, hung freely just past her shoulders. Her shirt was unbuttoned to just above the bra-line. He got a glimpse of her tanned legs as she crossed them, causing her skirt to hike up her thigh. It was then that the back of his head starting itching again. It was so distracting that he put his food down and rubbed his neck. Jane, noticing Hawk's discomfort, got up from her chair, walked around behind him and began to massage his shoulders. He started to protest, but the massage seemed to make all of the tension of the day melt away with her every touch.

"This is an important meeting you have tomorrow," she pointed out. "If it goes well, you should at least be able to get _provisional_ budgetary approval for the next 2 quarters. This is critical for the future of GI JOE isn't it?"

"MmHmm."

"Then it is important that you get rested up for tomorrow."

"Not with the dreams I've been having lately."

"Oh really?" She said with curiosity. She stopped rubbing his shoulders and walked back to her seat, "Nightmares?"

"No, but they are...unsettling."

"Were they about me?" she said, as she leaned over his desk from the other side.

"I...I don't know," he said, apprehensively; her question caught him off-guard. He looked away, so as not to stare at her cleavage, and began to pick nervously at the remaining grains of rice in his bowl with his chopsticks.

"You just need to learn how to relax. I know many techniques on how to achieve this. I can show you if you like. Sometimes men in your position, with your responsibilities, need help doing that from time to time."

She took the last egg roll from the bag, squeezing the tip between her thumb and index finger. He watched as she kicked her head back and dangled it teasingly over her open mouth. Then, ever so slowly, she inched it down her throat. She swallowed it whole as she lowered her head back down - dabbing a bit of the juice that dribbled off the corner of her full lips with a napkin.

Hawk's chopsticks slipped out of his inattentive grasp and clacked loudly against the desktop. "No thank-you," he said, almost stuttering, "I don't need..."

She walked over to the file cabinet where He kept a bottle of his favorite brandy. As she bent over to open the drawer, he couldn't help but notice how the fabric in her skirt struggled to stretch around her firm round buttocks. She returned with the brandy and an empty glass.

"In that case, we'll have a nightcap. It will make you more _pliable,_" she said.

She sat on top of Hawk's desk right next to him. Her foot brushed against his calf as she poured his drink. From this position, his eyes could take in her perfect figure – there was something hypnotic about her. Yes, _hypnotic_ – but he couldn't put his finger on it. In fact, the more he tried to think, the more his neck itched.

"You have given everything of yourself in defending your country," she said, as she topped-off his glass. "And yet, those whom you protect fight against you. Instead of giving you your due, they conspire behind your back. They deprive you of the tools you need to do your job. Hawk, I can help you to _take_ what is rightfully yours. You _need_ me," she said, handing him the glass. "Do you want me?"

"I want..."

"You want..._me..._"

Hawk rubbed the back of his neck as he took the glass:

_CLINK_

The distinctive sound of metal against glass caused him to look down at his hand holding the brandy. The gold band around his finger, in contact with the glass, gleamed as it picked up the light from his desk lamp. He thumbed the ring, twirling it around his finger – it reminded him of something.

"...I want you...to leave now," he said as an afterthought - his attention remained focused on the ring.

Her eyes widened: she had never been spurned so matter-of-factly before. When she looked into Hawk's eyes however, she knew he was serious. She got up from his desk and walked back around to her chair.

"I'll be going back to base tomorrow, so your services will no longer be required Ms. Reese." He stood up and resumed looking out of the window.

She turned away, buttoning her shirt, and walked out of the office.

Hawk finished his drink. The ring clinked against the glass again as he placed it on his desk. He noticed that the itching in his neck stopped as he picked up his phone and dialed out:

"Hello Sweetheart...no everything's fine, I just wanted to hear your voice."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

It was a quiet trip back to Jane Reese's apartment. She spent the drive contemplating what went wrong in Hawk's office; what she could have done differently. She arrived in her modest apartment in Washington, kicked off her shoes and relaxed on the couch. She didn't expect to be alone tonight, so she had nothing planned. She decided to watch some TV. Before she got too settled in, however, she heard a familiar beeping sound. She went over to the study and activated the SAT/VID phone on her desk.

"We've noticed you've come home early."

"Yes, I aborted the mission."

"What happened?"

"Hawk is immune to the enzyme."

"Are you sure? Did he display any of the symptoms?"

"Yes: sleeplessness from unusual dream patterns, and itching on the sub-derma of the neck. The enzyme was delivered; it just didn't take."

"A shame, we don't have many of those bugs left."

"You should know he's leaving tomorrow. Once he's at JOE headquarters we can't touch him." She hesitated, "have you considered plan B?"

"Yes, but we've decided _against_ assassination. According to your reports, he has enough supporters to where his death would galvanize their resolve. This would give GI JOE a _second wind_ and they would just replace him with someone else – someone unpredictable. No, the last thing we need to deal with now is a martyr. But don't worry; we have other contingencies to fall back on--"

Jane breathed an audible sigh.

"You look relieved."

"No, it's just that there would've been no honor in assassination."

"I detect something more. You're not actually taking a liking to that old warhorse are you?"

"Of course not. I'm a professional."

"Very well, I'll report your findings to the others. Hail Cobra!"

"Hail Cobra," Jane said under her breath, as she turned off the device.

The End.


End file.
